


Longing

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Círdan reflects for a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to chloe_amethyst for the beta job. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> contrelamontre challenge: the sea - 30 minutes.
> 
> fanfic100 challenge 014: Green. 
> 
> Inspired by a photomanipulation of young Erestor by mirasaui:
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/132238694@N03/38241977232/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

I see this boy walking along my shores. He looks a bit lost, somewhat sad, but maybe that is just my imagination. Tomorrow is his wedding day. According to tradition he should be being groomed for the big day. His hair is in dire need of a wash and good trimming, and although I cannot see his hands from here, I know they are always ink-stained... His grooming should, of course, be accompanied by 'the talk', the famous talk every father gives his son before his wedding day explaining the facts of life the boy already knows. But this boy has no father. He is lucky that his mother secured him such a good marriage arrangement but he looks far from happy.

Galdor shall be arriving soon. I glance back at my office, but I choose to remain in the balcony, where the brisk breeze conjures images of blue-green softness with its scents of dead algae and salt. Unaware of my presence, the boy continues his windswept walk along the sand. I am certain that if he glanced up to me, his tranquillity would shrivel. He is a shy one, always proper and correct, but blatantly uncomfortable with the many social situations he is not used to. No wonder: a widow has few opportunities to show off her offspring, and he and his sister rarely have seen more than five people together during their growing years. But despite his gaucherie, I sense strength in him; something tells me that he will come out of his shell and find his place in the world.

But for now he is just a boy on the eve of his wedding, enjoying his last day of boyhood in his old trousers and loose, tangled hair. The wind swipes his hair harsher against his face and I wish I would be it, that a single accident in time would allow me to run down the stairs to the beach, find him there and touch him, be young again. He is beautiful in his innocence and helplessness. I would show him the sweetness of another body better; I would show him how promising he is, how wide the world is and how vast time spreads. And I would give him some love, just enough to be the ledge from which he will take flight.

Galdor's hand rests on my shoulder, interrupting my fantasy. I did not hear him come in, but that is often the case when I dream awake. I hear a sigh that is almost laughter and an amused reproach, "Círdan, Círdan..."

I smile and rest back on his chest. He is slightly shorter than me, but I feel him like solid rock as his arms snake around me. "Do you not pity him?" I ask.

"He will be fine."

I nod and Galdor nuzzles my neck. We watch silently as the boy progresses through the sand. Galdor is no hypocrite and he too appreciates the beauty of the lean form blossoming into adulthood. We know each other far too well, for far too long. A fleeting desire is nothing, nothing for us, and compassion is understood.

Tomorrow, Galdor will give away his sister's son to a marriage of convenience. Perhaps young Erestor will find love there. I pray so for his sake and for his bride's sake. But a part of me still wishes I were the wind.

 

_Finis  
February 2006_


End file.
